


Probably

by catsaremyboyfriend



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:52:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3990619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsaremyboyfriend/pseuds/catsaremyboyfriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>uh yeah this is in no way related to my asexual soulmate story just to be clear anyway i really like bucky barnes (obviously) and if my computer wasn't being such a shit i would write more anyway enjoy</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Adamantium

**Author's Note:**

> uh yeah this is in no way related to my asexual soulmate story just to be clear anyway i really like bucky barnes (obviously) and if my computer wasn't being such a shit i would write more anyway enjoy

When some magic asshole turns him into a dame, Bucky goes to find Steve. His metal arm is too heavy, didn’t shrink with the rest of him. He struggles along like a hunchback, keeps getting glimpses of his new face in windows. It creeps him out that he’s attracted to himself, maybe. He’s not sure, emotions aren’t as easy as he thinks they used to be. 

He can feel the ache in his back, though, muscles strained by the pull of the arm. People are staring, but they’re probably not dangerous and he has five guns on him if they are. None of them offer help, which is probably good. He wouldn’t take it. 

Steve lives around here, in a dingy apartment. He’s cased it out a few times, in more lucid moments. 

Right now he’s not actually sure if he’s James Barnes, Howling Commando, or the Winter Soldier, Soviet assassin. He doesn’t really like the idea of either of them. He just wants Steve, who’s familiar when nothing else is.

He has to half-crawl the stairs to Steve’s place, more tired than he thought. _Machines don’t get tired_ , the Soldier says in his head, but he’s pretty sure he’s not a machine. Or, at least, only partly. 

Steve’s door is closed and locked, not that that’s any obstacle. He knocks anyway. Steve might not be here, which would be bad. It’s only a moment til the door opens, though, and Bucky looks up. Steve is even bigger when Bucky’s five feet tall; he’s a ridiculous golden god, and Bucky has brief memories of a table and being tied down and Steve, above him. 

Bucky sighs and lets his arm dangle. “Hey.” “ _Bucky?_ ” Steve’s eyes are wide and incredulous, even though Bucky’s real sure this ain’t the weirdest thing Steve’s seen; he still remembers Red Skull peeling off his face. 

“Yeah. Can I come in?” Steve moves easily aside, so Bucky limps in, throws himself on the couch. He can feel Steve’s eyes on him, worried. “I’m not gonna kill you, I promise.” 

“I…I _know_ ,” Steve protests, all offended. The righteous tone in his voice is so familiar Bucky could cry.

“You gonna call SHIELD?” 

“No. Why are you…” He gestures at Bucky’s newly female body.

“Some bastard with dark hair, I dunno.” He examines his tiny body, mildly annoyed that his dame-self is so goddamn _small_.

“I’ll get Strange on it.” Steve drops heavily next to him, and Bucky would move away, not yet ready to be touched, but Steve’s face is a fuckin’ open wound of misery and Bucky feels like shit. 

He reaches his flesh arm out to touch Steve’s shoulder. “Hey. It’s…uh. It’s good. I’m good right now.” 

“Permanently?” Steve asks, so hopeful. It’s always been easy to read him, Bucky thinks. Or, that’s how he remembers it anyway. 

“I. No. Sometimes I’m bad again.”

“You’re not bad,” Steve says fiercely, like Bucky didn’t shoot him and his friends full of holes. He’s overwhelmed by a wave of fondness. 

“Sure, pal.”

“You’re staying here.”

“I know.” 

Steve relaxes, just a little, gives him a real smile, not one of his million-dollar movie star grins. “You can sleep for now, I’ll call up Strange.”

“I better be awake when he changes me back,” Bucky warns, cause he’s dangerous when woken unexpectedly. He breaks bones. 

“Of course.” Bucky falls asleep right there, relieved, cause Steve’s gonna take care of him.

He wakes up slow, a pleasant way that leaves him warm. He hasn’t felt like this since…he can’t remember ever feeling like this. Mostly he remembers pain, and Steve. The rest creeps up on him slowly. 

“Strange said to drink this,” Steve orders, handing over a small bottle filled with blue goo. He takes it obediently and drinks, cause Steve wouldn’t hurt him. There’s a tingle and he’s himself again, bulging out of the girly clothes he stole. 

Steve’s open mouthed, and Bucky’s relaxed enough that he laughs. “I know I look good, pal, no need to stare.” 

Steve grins at him, looser than last night. “I have clothes,” he announces, pushing a pile of blue fabric towards him. Bucky’s got a layer of grime on him that could repel bullets, but he takes them. They smell of leather and apples, of Steve. It’s good. Steve waits while he changes, takes the girl clothes and tosses them. 

“I wanna sleep some more.” He wants to sleep forever, but he’s pretty sure that’s death and he’s not giving up yet.

“Sure. Take my bed.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “No fuckin’ way. Couch is fine.” He hasn’t been this settled inside his head for weeks. Steve is good for him. Must be his aura of purity, Bucky thinks, sniggering a little. 

Steve gives in with a good-natured shrug. “Whatever you want, Buck.” 

“That’s right, punk. Whatever I want.” He’ll shower and take care of everything tomorrow, maybe. If he’s up to it. He gives Steve a smirk and lets his eyes close.  
_______________________________________  
Captain America is as beautiful as Kitty said, and twice as earnest. She kind of wants to bite him. Which isn’t new, she wants to bite _everyone _, but she means this in a friendly way.__

“Bucky’s gone through some hard times,” he starts, like there’s a hero out there who doesn’t know about the Winter Soldier. 

“Yeah, I know,” she drawls, popping her gum before smiling her biggest smile, fangs and all. “Wolvie told me everything.” 

That Cap’s oldest friend came back damaged, that he needs some watching, that Jubilation “Useless Powers” Lee is the girl for the job. For two days, anyway. Whatever. Being an X-Man sucks anyway, she’s sick of watching her friends die and Cyclops is an asshole. 

"Alright,” Cap says, nodding seriously, then he grins so wide she almost staggers back. Gosh, he’s pretty. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

He steps past her and down the hallway, leaving her to face James Buchanan “I’ve Killed At Least One President” Barnes. She takes a deep breath and walks inside. 

Only her enhanced reflexes save her from the cushion that comes flying at her head. “Get the hell out.” Cap’s apartment is depressingly spare, lots of beige and too-modern furniture. The rest of Stark’s place is modern, too, but this is _boring_. She notices the boxes and changes her mind, figuring they just moved in. 

Bucky sits on the only couch in the room, his back to her, facing the TV. It’s turned to static. “No can do, dude.” 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he grinds out, turning to face her. Up close, he’s all smooth dark skin and plush mouth, dark shadows under his eyes. Pretty, even with all that hair. The metal arm gleams. 

“Hiya! I’m Jubilation Lee, but you can call me Jubilee, or Jubes. Just don’t call me late for dinner,” she jokes, beaming. 

His eyes widen, only a little, but she’s been living with Logan for a year so reading stoic men is kind of her jam. “You’re just a slip of a thing.” 

“Yep,” she says cheerily, jumping over the back of the couch to land next to him. She easily repulses his attempts to shove her away, because vampire strength is amazing and she loves it. 

He pauses, eying her. “You a mutant?” 

"Yeah. A vampire mutant.” He rolls his eyes like he doesn’t believe her, which is fine. He’ll learn. “So is today a good day?” 

Sighing, Bucky falls back onto the couch, crossing his arms. “Sure. I’m not a mental patient.” 

"You really kind of are,” she points out, stealing the remote. “I mean, it’s fine, I’ve dealt with the _Phoenix_ , but you are, you know, pretty much FUBAR.” 

His laugh startles her a little, enough for him to steal the remote back. “You’re alright, kid.” 

Snack time is weird. He seems confused by modern-day food, and he has to eat easy stuff cause Hydra fed him through tubes. “So these are bananas?” he asks, staring down at his hands. 

"I know they had bananas in the forties, dude,” she tells him, spinning her lights between her fingers. 

He watches them for a moment, blank-faced, then shrugs. “Not like this.” 

"Oh. There was some sort of banana plague in the fifties. Sorry.” 

He shrugs again, which is kind of creepy, that she can’t get a reaction. “I don’t remember.” 

She’s doing laundry (they live like frat boys, it’s ridiculous; Cap, unsurprisingly, wears a lot of blue) turns fast when she smells Bucky. It’s hard for people to sneak up on her now, but he manages. “Bucky!" 

He’s very still, hands loose at his sides. “Who are you?” he asks curiously. 

She waits, expecting a joke, except he’s serious. She was warned about memory lapses. “I’m Jubilee. What do you last remember?” 

It’s easy enough to steer him towards the couch, where he slumps and stares at his metal arm. “I don’t know. Who am I?” 

Tears are pricking at her eyes, and she wipes at her nose with her sleeve. This _sucks_. Bucky doesn’t even look like a person anymore; his spark is gone. “You’re James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.” He repeats it after her, slowly, like a child. “Cap says you should sleep when this happens. How about you go to sleep?” 

He perks up when she mentions Cap, eager as a puppy, then sits back. “Okay.” He falls asleep all in a rush, so she covers him with a blanket (it’s got the American flag on it, Jesus Christ) and goes searching through the fridge. Vampires have to eat, too. 

When he wakes up the girl is still there, flipping through a magazine. She looks tired and pale, but he thinks the pallor may be natural. Vampires, Jesus. Now he’s seen everything. He feels really loose, all lax and compliant. Sam says it’s a side effect of stress, Natalia calls him subby and laughs. 

“Hiya,” he murmurs, hooking his chin over the back of his couch. And it _is_ his couch, he made Steve bring it all the way from D.C. Moving from D.C. to Avengers Tower was a bad day, a locked inside his head day. Sam is teaching him how to handle those better, Sam swears that he’s doing better than anyone expected him to. 

He really likes Sam, he thinks, letting his head loll. Sam, and that pretty green gal he’s seen around. He _really_ likes her. 

“Are you high?” Jubilee blurts out, incredulous. 

“What?” 

"You just…the grin and the looseness and the…” She waves a hand, fingers sparking. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter, I’m just glad you’re okay.” Bucky gives her a huge smile. She bares her teeth at him, affectionate. 

It’s only been a day since Steve left on mission, but he grows on people fast. Natalia says he’s charming. 

Steve comes home with all his hair gone and Jubilee laughs til she’s nearly sick, red dripping from her eyes. “Oh, yeah, I cry blood,” she says in answer to their astonished stares, wiping at her eyes. “Sorry. You just look really funny without eyebrows.” He exchanges a look with Steve, wiggling his own brows. Steve does look pretty hilarious bald. “Well, I’m out. Don’t forget to text,” she reminds Bucky, brandishing her phone like a weapon. “I put my name as the Jubester on your contacts. Remember, phones are hard, go slow.” 

People always treat him like he has no idea how technology works, which is unfair, he didn’t sleep through everything like Steve. And he likes tech, he even got Stark to teach him how to fix up the arm. “Okay, kid.” 

Bucky goes for his gun when another perky teenager strolls right through the goddamn wall, beaming. “Jubes, hey, you ready to go?” 

“Yeah, Kitty.” Jubilee hooks her arm around the girl’s shoulder, leaves with a cheery wave and a crackle of sparks; he jumps a bit. Steve hurries over to him, always so protective. 

Bucky gives him an amused glance. “I’m fine, punk.” He rolls his shoulders, feeling the arm’s weight more than usual. He needs to work out. “Let’s eat, then I’m hitting the gym.” 

"I could come,” Steve offers even as he yawns. 

“Nah. You need to sleep.” It’s been seventy years, and he’s a monster, but Bucky Barnes will always take care of Steve Rogers.  
____________________________________________  
The first time they meet Kate Bishop, Steve’s naked. All his hair has grown back, though. 

She comes running into their apartment, brandishing her bow. Bucky’s got a gun in his hands without thinking, aiming at her pretty face. He’s killed prettier, but not by much. He thinks he might’ve had a sweetheart, before the war, who resembled her. 

She drops her bow immediately and smiles wide, raising her hands. They have the calluses of an experienced archer. “Hey! Sorry, wrong room, you must be Bucky, I’m Hawkeye,” she says, all in a rush. 

He frowns, because he’s met Hawkeye, an attractive, sloppy, blond fella with big arms. This girl, Asian and maybe a buck soaking wet, is not him. He hasn’t put his gun down, even though she’s small. Armin Zola was a little guy, too. “Oh, yeah, there’s two of us. I also go by Kate," she shrugs as Steve stumbles in, wearing only the shield. 

“Buck! I heard voices…” He stops as Kate laughs, deeper than he’d think from someone her size. “Aw, shucks.” It’s weird, cause Steve was never an aw shucks type of guy, but he figures the future changes them all. 

"You are delicious,” she sighs, fond. Steve’s covering himself with the shield, flushing almost as red as its paint. 

“I’m really sorry, Miss Bishop,” Steve says earnestly, inching back into the bedroom. 

“No, please, don’t apologize, that was like Christmas and my birthday,” she calls after him, fanning herself. There’s a pleased noise from Steve, who’s vainer than he lets on. 

She turns dark eyes to Bucky, who holsters his gun. He feels a little washed out and tired. It’s manageable, he hopes. Sometimes he turns back into the Soldier and asks for a mission, when being Bucky Barnes gets too hard. Being told what to do evens him out. It makes Steve real blue, though, so he steadies himself. 

“I thought you were, like, in a straitjacket,” other Hawkeye, Kate Bishop, blurts out. 

“The serum doesn’t allow extreme mental trauma,” he recites, which is sorta true. Mostly it keeps him from going cracked, like the guys who used to shit themselves in the street when he grew up. It doesn’t stop the nightmares, or keep the Soldier from speaking, and sometimes his memory goes away. 

“That’s handy.” Steve reappears, wearing slacks and one of his painted-on shirts, shield left behind. 

"We think so.” The serum does the same for him, probably better. Steve’s better in everything. 

"Stark sent me here, he probs forgot Clint’s room number,” she explains, falling loosely onto his couch. Bucky’s met Stark a few times. Howard’s son. He’s been told he killed Howard, and he doesn’t think about it because it makes him feel like there’s a giant fuckin’ hole in his chest. “Sorry for, like, seeing you naked. Is Natasha gonna kill me?” 

Natalia-Natasha-has a very healthy relationship with Sam. More power to her, Natalia deserves happiness. Steve’s turning seven shades of red, like he always does when someone implies he's going steady with her, or talks about romantic shit.

Bucky vaguely remembers Steve always being like this about sex, so he figures it’s permanent. “Naw,” he fills in, nudging Steve with an elbow. 

“Cool. Are you…” She makes a motion he doesn’t recognize, so he squints at her. She sighs. “Are you with her? Cause I’m gonna be jealous.” 

"Of Natalia, or of me?” he teases, charmed despite himself. She’s so goddamn blunt, it’s refreshing. Even Steve steps careful around him now, it’s bullshit. He was broke once and he came back, he can handle whatever they throw at him. He hopes. 

She squints; he’s strongly reminded of the other Hawkeye. “Both,” she finally decides, letting out another raspy chuckle. 

“I’m not,” he confirms, cause Natalia was his girl once, or as much of his girl as she could be, but that’s past. 

“Oh, cool.” She grins sunnily, leaving him room to respond. He just smiles, which Sam tells him is an appropriate response if he’s not sure about something. Kate kicks her feet up, apparently here to stay. 

He knows Steve finds the future hard, but he likes these brash new heroes. They remind him of the self he used to be; Bucky Barnes, the bright, cocky kid whose only worry was money and taking care of Steve Rogers. 

"Do you like Dog Cops?” He waits for her to explain. “I guess not. Well, there’s a first time for everything.” 

He perches next to her as Steve goes to the kitchen in search of food. “Are you a mutant?” he asks, because all the other teenage girls he’s met so far seem to be. More power to them, even in modern times dames have it tough. 

“Nope. Totally human.” 

It’s gotta be rough for humans in a world like theirs, but he doesn’t wanna put her down. “Okay.” 

"Now be quiet and watch TV,” she orders, which is nice. He likes clear directions. That it’s coming from a pretty dame like Kate doesn’t hurt, either. 

"Whatever you say, boss.” 


	2. Parker

Steve is…touchy…the first few weeks he’s back. Like he needs to make sure Bucky’s really there. Bucky accepts it, even when it’s suffocating, cause Steve’s always mattered more. 

He grins at Steve as he jumps over the back of their couch, in sweats and those tanks he wears, still looking like the goddamned Arrow Collar man, it’s ridiculous. Bucky watches him, waiting.

“I’m having people over today.” Steve’s already brought his friends over a few times. Barton. Sharon. Sam, the one with the wings. 

Bucky thinks he likes Sam, if emotions were easier. It makes conversations awkward, when reactions he can’t give are expected. For now, he takes cues from people around him. Or, Steve. Mostly he’s around Steve, and the Widow, who comes to him in flashes of memory, red hair and bruises. She never takes her eyes off him. Smart. 

It’s been hard, since he got here, since Steve turned him back into a man. Steve keeps shooting him glances, real fuckin’ nervous, and Bucky knows he’s not the _right_ Bucky, still got too much of the Soldier in him. 

He spent one day fuzzy, knocking into shit, spilling water all dopey cause he couldn’t stop remembering his Ma. Then he’d cried, which Sam, once he came over, said was good, that at this stage any kind of emotion is good. 

Bucky knows, from conversations overheard, that Sam’s ticked at Steve, that he’s “not the therapist Bucky needs, Steve, goddamnit, I’m not trained for this, _nobody’s_ trained for this” but it helps, to have someone who’s not up close, isn’t gonna hover all overstuffed with memories of a Bucky who doesn’t exist anymore. It’s not fair, Steve changed, too. 

He hates the goddamn war, he should’ve gone to Canada like those students during Vietnam, shoulda dragged Steve up there with him. But shit happened, they’re here now, so he lets Steve put his feet in his lap, which isn’t too overwhelming. 

“It’s just Nat coming over,” he continues, flexing his toes.

“Natalia?” he says slowly, and it’s been a week, he _knows_ Steve ain’t gonna hit him for talking, but he tenses a little, just enough for Steve to notice. Of fuckin’ course he takes it the wrong way.

“She doesn’t have to, Buck. Do you not like her? It’s okay to have opinions,” he recites. It’s one of the first things Sam told them, the thing Bucky finds easiest. He’s always had opinions. 

He has all sorts of opinions. It’s his opinion that Steve is a big Irish punk with more heroism than sense. His opinion that he’s so broke it’s not even worth trying to fix him. His opinion that skipping through time like a damn stone did not prepare him for today, with Steve looking at him like he hung the moon. Having opinions comes easy. 

“She’s fine,” he says, gruff, cause it’s not a verbose day. She is, though, the teenager he vaguely remembers grown up, still a wolf hiding behind a movie-star smile. She calls him James and triggers bloody memories. It’s comforting to hear Russian, too, even if his skin color screams anything _but_ Russian, screams warm climates instead of snowy streets. 

“It’s fine if you don’t want her coming over, really,” Steve swears, earnest.

Bucky feels his hackles rise. He’s not here to be coddled. “S’fuckin’ _fine_ ,” he spits between his teeth. Anger is an emotion that’s never hard to find.  
Steve winces, goes to draw his feet back, curl into a ball like he’s still the skinny bit of nothin’ that Bucky remembers most clearly. Buck grabs his ankle. He’s not angry enough to be stupid. Touch drives him crazy, sure, but it grounds him, too. He’d shake apart otherwise. “She’s fine,” he says again, and Steve’s mouth turns up at the corners.  
*  
*  
Bucky jolts awake from a nightmare where Steve falls from the train with him, tumbling end over end, the crushed pulp of his skull at the bottom of the ravine. Bucky sits up immediately. It helps to move. 

There’s a light on in the kitchen, the sound of cereal being eaten. He wipes the sweat from his brow, stuffs his shaking hands in his pockets. “Steve?” His voice comes out rougher than intended, a growl. Fitting for an animal. 

“Yeah, Buck.” He steps through the doorway to find Steve, slumped over a bowl of Wheaties. “Is everything okay?”

Bucky takes a few moments to think about it, whether the nightmare was bad enough that he needs to be calmed. “Yes,” he finally decides, because it was about Steve and Steve’s here, solid enough to be comforting. And if Bucky, with his shitty knockoff version of the Serum, could survive the ravine fall, Steve could, too. 

He lingers in the doorway, watching Steve eat. “Do you want to sit?” Steve asks; direct questions are helpful, clear directions are helpful. He sits across from Steve without speaking, folding his hands in front of himself.  
There’s only the sound of cereal crunching, making him vaguely nauseous. He’s been led to understand that Hydra tube fed him, fucked up his stomach. Most of the shit he eats now comes out of a blender.  
“Nightmare?” Steve asks, _chewing_. Bucky’s shoulders tense; he’s already feeling shitty, this sure as hell ain’t helping. “Buck?” Steve’s stopped eating, thank the Lord God, paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. “You okay?” 

“Could you…stop eating?” he gets out, fisting his hands. The arm whirs in the ensuing silence, a low hum that’s near constant. He hates asking for things, even as Steve smiles and pushes his bowl away.

“Sure, Buck.” He kicks lightly at Bucky’s foot under the table, grinning, relaxed enough that Bucky thinks he might be relaxing, too. He eyes Steve, wondering why he’s still awake at three in the damn morning.  
“I couldn’t sleep,” Steve announces without Bucky asking; seventy years and Steve still reads him like a goddamn book. “I had a lot…There’s a lot going on,” he explains, giving Bucky that shy smile that gets him all the girls, probably. “Now that SHIELD’s gone…” Sighing, he lets his head drop. “We have to start all over.”  
Better than Hydra in your ranks, Bucky thinks. Anything’s better than Hydra. Steve yawns, laughing a little, bitter. “Sometimes I talk and m’not even sure you’re listening,” he admits, the Brooklyn sliding into place where it belongs. Steve got rid of his accent quick when they were kids. Sometimes it slips out. 

Bucky holds his eyes for a long moment. “M’listening.” To every goddamn word Steve says, he’s listening.

“Okay, Buck.” Steve’s smile is fond, and Bucky, suddenly, wants to stay in this dim kitchen forever, watching Steve smile.  
*  
They end up on the couch, watching TV that’s old to everyone else and new to them, reruns of I Love Lucy. Steve describes Lucille Ball as a firecracker, and Bucky agrees. He falls asleep halfway through a scolding from her husband, wakes up with his face squished into the soft place on Steve’s hip, metal arm thrown over his lap. It’s still dark.

“Buck. I have to piss,” Steve’s whispering, a bit of a laugh in his voice. Bucky tenses, tired but he doesn’t want to sleep alone, without the comfort of Steve’s bulk.  
“M’ comin’ right back,” Steve slips in, pushing gently at Bucky’s arm, so he moves it, shoves his face into the cushions as Steve stands. “I’ll be right back,” he says again, briefly touching Bucky’s hair. Bucky’s asleep before the bathroom door even opens.  
*  
He’s halfway through breakfast (twenty pancakes and a plate of eggs for Steve, strawberry smoothie for him) when he has a sudden, vivid memory of eating breakfast with another man, a Swede, then an additional, clearer memory of being elbow deep in the man’s intestines. 

“ _Steve_.” He’s up and to the bathroom in seconds, vomiting, tasting blood in his mouth. Looking at his hands he half expects blood on them, too, encrusted in the plates, but they’re still clean from this morning’s shower. 

“Bucky?” Steve’s crouched at his back, comforting, but he smells like food so Bucky vomits again, rests his head against the side of Steve’s thigh. 

“ _Sorry, I’m so sorry_ ,” he says in Swedish, didn’t even know he _knew_ Swedish. 

Steve runs fingers through his hair, catching in the tangles. “Bucky. Hey, Buck. C’mon, I need English,” he soothes. 

“Just some guy,” he mutters. “I dunno. He’s dead.”

One day Bucky will admit to another murder and Steve will draw back, finally, realizing what a fucking monster his best friend is. Today, he briefly cups the back of Bucky’s neck. “Okay, Buck. It’s okay. Nobody’s mad at you.”

“I killed a _president_ ,” he reminds Steve. “M’pretty sure some folks are mad at me.” 

“I bet he wasn’t even a good president,” Steve says airily, waving a hand.

Bucky can’t hold back his laugh, his relief that Steve’s got his back. “Sure, punk. Whatever you say.”  
*  
*  
Natasha gets a phone call at three in the morning, the tinny “America the Beautiful” she uses for Steve. When she picks up he’s breathless, a little panicked. She’ll bet anything it’s about James. She rolls over, pokes Sam awake. 

“Nat, I need you here, now. It’s Bucky.” She takes a quiet pleasure in always being right. 

“What happened?” 

“He doesn’t…he doesn’t remember me again,” Steve whispers, miserable. Sam’s blinking up at her, sleepy, and she scratches at his hair. _It’s Steve_ , she mouths, watching the worry line appear between his brows. Sam cares so _much_ , she doesn’t even need to try reading his face. It’s all there. 

“He’s asking for you, Nat.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Do you want Sam, too?” Steve hesitates, so she makes the decision for him. “No. I’ll be enough.” She hangs up without a goodbye, they’re unnecessary. “James forgot again. I’m going to calm him down,” she tells Sam.

“Be careful,” he murmurs, soft-kissing her forehead, her temple. She brushes a kiss across his cheek before leaving bed.

“I always am.”  
*  
James is standing in the living room when she walks in; he looks like the proud soldier she remembers, not the half-broken man she knows now. 

Steve’s got the shield resting at his feet, sitting in the kitchen, his face screwed up. Like Sam, his emotions are so easy. She keeps hers folded within herself, can’t imagine living like them. Exposed. 

Bucky’s eyes have fallen on her face, lighting up. Occasionally Hydra let him be himself, just Russian and patriotic. Seems like he’s gone back to one of those times. 

“Natalia!” he calls, reaching for her. She takes his left hand, squeezing the cold metal. 

“James.” 

“ _You’ve grown up_ ,” he says in Russian, proud, touching one of her curls. “ _You’re beautiful. How long was I under?_ ”

“ _James, it’s 2015_ ,” she tells him, taking his other hand, both to comfort and to hinder him if he tries to strike. 

“ _A long time. You’ve aged well_ ,” he teases, always the charmer. “ _What is my mission?_ ” He nods to Steve. “Am I killing this man?” he says in English. Steve makes a soft, wounded noise, and James is going to _hate_ himself later. 

“No!” she says sharply, moving slightly to block his line of sight. “No. They woke you up to reward you.” 

James squints at her, the plates in his arm shifting as he tenses. “I require no reward. My happiness comes from the glory of my country,” he recites, and sometimes she thinks Hydra’s greatest achievement was making James think he’s Russian when he so _clearly_ isn’t.

“James,” she purrs, stepping closer, touching his hip and arm; if she needs to, she can flip him like this. “Kiss me.”

“Natalia?” She kisses him before he can react, digs her Widow’s Bites into his ribs. He drops like a stone. 

“Put him in the bathroom, I’ll stay in case he wakes up the same,” she tells Steve, who’s suspiciously blotchy and wet. She softens, walks over to touch his shoulder. “Steve. He’s still with us.”

He tugs her close with an arm around her waist, presses his face to her stomach. “He has to get better, Nat.” 

“He will,” she promises, cradling the back of his head. “I did.”

“Yes, you did,” he agrees, sounding less close to tears. She’ll take what she can get.


	3. Host Club

James wakes up fine, blinking blearily, asking Steve what’s for lunch. His face softens when he sees her, like always, and like always, she smiles back. “Hello, James.”

He peers out at her from under his bangs, eyes darting from Steve and back. “Natalia, why are you here?” he asks, wary, but she knows he likes her. 

“You had a flashback,” Steve fills in, touching James’ cheek, the crown of his head. 

“Did I hurt anyone?” James whispers, blank.

“Nah, Buck. I just called Nat because you were asking for her.”

James relaxes, leaning against the bath. “Oh.” She nods, squeezes Steve’s shoulder, and leaves. It’s still early, still dark, and Sam’s waiting for her.  
*  
*  
“Whoa, hey, I’m Hawkeye,” the blonde guy sitting in Steve’s living room yelps when Bucky pulls a gun on him. 

Steve runs in so fast he skids, wearing only those panties he calls briefs. “Buck, he’s fine!”

The man grins, a little mocking, Bucky thinks, but he could be reading him wrong. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Clint,” he says with the barest hint of a drawl, holding out a hand. Bucky watches it for a moment, puzzled, until he realizes Clint means to shake. By then it’s too late, though, Clint drawing his hand back. 

“I’m James Buchanan Barnes,” he recites. Steve’s coached him, over and over, not to respond with the Asset through habit.

“Cool.” Clint turns back to the TV. 

“What are you watching?” Bucky asks for lack of anything else to say.

“Leon: The Professional.”

“Is it good?” 

“You haven’t watched it? It’s…” He catches the edge of Steve’s glare and stops. “…a movie about an assassin. Shit. Never mind.”  
Bucky frowns, cause he’s not _weak_ , he can handle a goddamn movie. He elbows Steve aside and sits down to watch.  
*  
*  
Bucky finds part-time work in a flower shop, which makes Steve real proud, he thinks. “I oughta take you out to dinner,” Steve says, grinning, a flush creeping up his neck. 

“S’just flowers,” Bucky mumbles, but he’s grinning, too, a warm glow in his chest.

The owner of the shop is a woman about his age, meaning she’s ninety. She called him son and pinched his cheek, laughed when he blushed. Her name is Beth. He’s pretty sure he didn’t know her, before the war. 

The other day an old man came up to him on the street, stared for so long Bucky reached for his gun until the guy said, “You look just like a fellow I used to know.” 

“Barnes, right?” Bucky had asked, relaxing. 

“That’s right, son. Thought he died in the war.” 

“No, sir. Made it out.” In a manner of speaking, cause sometimes Bucky thinks he left more than his arm in that ravine. 

“You must be his grandson,” the man said, and Bucky couldn’t for the life of him remember this guy. He doesn’t have a lot of memories from before that don’t involve Steve.

“You could say that,” he’d muttered, looking away.

“Well, I’m glad to hear he made it out alright. He dated my sister, you know. Broke her heart, so give ‘im a slug on the arm for me.”

“Yessir.” He’d walked away after, trying to figure out who the fuck the guy was. 

He shakes himself, comes back to Steve, whose smile is so wide it looks painful. “I’ll do anything if you stop makin’ that dumbass face,” Bucky teases, slouching back in his seat. 

Steve grins, slow, says, “Anything?” Bucky’s mouth goes dry, til Steve laughs and screws up his face, eyes crossed. “This pretty enough for you, Buck?” 

“You’re always pretty, punk.”  
*  
*  
Bringing his proof of life papers to SHIELD to be checked over, Bucky meets Darcy on what she describes as a “very, very bad day.” Bucky grunts, having had plenty of bad days himself, and shoves his paperwork across to her. 

She blows a curl of hair out of her face and taps nails that are an even brighter blue than Steve’s eyes against her desk. “So, what group are you affiliated with?” He frowns, confused. “You know…Avengers? X-Men? Hydra?” she says, like it’s obvious. 

“I’m not fuckin’ Hydra,” he growls, moving into her personal space. 

“Well, my ex-boyfriend was, the jerk, and he hogged the covers, too,” she sighs, shuffling through his paperwork and ignoring his looming with practiced ease. “And my ex-girlfriend sort of was, too, only I don’t think brainwashing counts.” 

He stands there for a while trying to figure out who the hell else besides Natalia she could’ve dated with those specifications, keeps coming up with only Natalia, and finally asks, “Natalia?” 

She beams at him, sunny. “Yep. We’re still great friends, we have wine nights and sometimes we make out. Sam comes, too.”  
He chokes on his own spit-he’ll _never_ be used to modern relationships-then starts looking around for Steve, who acts like a goddamn choir boy around his new team, but at least he’s familiar. “Too much?” she asks, stamping his papers in several places before handing them back over. “Sorry. Anyway, welcome back from the dead, Mr. Barnes.” 

“Wasn’t dead,” he grunts, turning to track Steve with his eyes as he comes closer, grinning like the ridiculous puppy he is. 

“Buck! Hey! I see you met Darcy.” Steve leans over her desk, all familiar, ears flushed. “How’s my best gal?” 

Bucky feels something dark rise in his throat. Her giggle is pleasant, though, not too besotted. “I’m good, Steve. I like your new friend.” 

She nods to Bucky, who is Steve’s _oldest_ fucking friend, his _best_ friend, and he’d better not forget it. Steve puts a warm hand on Bucky’s shoulder, squeezing tight. “Please, Darce. Bucky’s been my friend since we were kids. He’s hardly new.” 

“Yeah, yeah, Cap. I know.” She and Steve chat for a little longer while Bucky fiddles with her pens, fascinated despite himself. There are feathers and glitter and one _lights up_. It’s the little things about the future that really get to him, he thinks, suddenly missing the forties like a damn ache. 

He bumps shoulders with Steve, who stops talking to grin at him, fond. “Just a minute, Bucky. We’ll go out for Italian, yeah?” 

“Yeah, punk.” Then again, Bucky thinks, settling back to glower at a guy who looks like he might piss himself, the best parts of the past are right here with him.  
*  
*  
Bucky gets a cat when he’s securing the perimeter. Natalia calls it lurking, but she likes making fun of him now that she knows he can take it.

He’s in front of the building, where the entrances are. There’s a kid with a box, who grabs Bucky’s sleeve as he walks by. Bucky thinks he does a good job not freaking out too much. The kid is untouched, anyway, if a little shaken by Bucky’s sharp tug away. “What.” 

The kid passes him a squirming bundle of fur, smiling all gap-toothed and wholesome. She’s black, her hair in buns at the top of her head. He smiles back, instinctive, cause he likes kids, mostly. As long as they’re not crying. “You could use a kitten,” she tells him, assurance in every word.

He looks down at the tiny grey cat in his hands, it’s little plump belly, the wide pink yawn of its mouth. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she promises, folding her now empty box under one arm and getting up to walk away. “Thank you for taking her,” she says for a goodbye, blending into the crowd within seconds.

He cups the kitten close to his chest, pokes at its nose. He squeezes her, lets her butt her head against his chin. “I’m naming you Squish,” he decides, carefully bundling her into his coat before heading back into the tower.

 

Steve is all smiles as Bucky tips Squish into his cupped hands, looking at Bucky like he’s just cured cancer. “We always wanted a cat, Buck.” He doesn’t remember, so he shrugs, watching Steve run his big thumbs down Squish’s back. “We’ll get shots for her tomorrow.” 

“N’food,” Bucky mutters, taking her back. 

“That too,” Steve agrees, still beaming.

 

When Bucky wakes up from nightmares he holds Squish for an hour, stroking along the sides of her face til his breathing settles. Steve wakes up at six to make omelets, whistling, and Bucky thinks maybe today won’t be so bad.  
*  
He’s out shopping for Squish, Steve in another aisle. Bucky can be trusted alone now, which is good, probably. He’s not liable to snap necks at every turn, anyway. He’s peering at the cookies, trying to figure out which ones he’d actually like, who the hell needs this many kinds of chocolate chips? It’s obscene.

“They taste better if you dip them in peanut butter.”

“I doubt it,” he replies without really thinking; this Chips Ahoy shit tastes like sawdust, far as he’s concerned. 

The speaker is just a kid, a white girl with red hair who’s fidgeting, a little flushed under his stare. “Nah, man. I mean, I feel ya, they’re probably the worst cookies, but everything tastes better with peanut butter.”

He shrugs, grabs the Oreos Steve devours, watching her gaze drop to the arm. He looks past her, to Steve, who’s coming up the aisle. “You all set, Buck?”

Her eyes widen. The next five minutes are spent calming the girl down, Steve’s smile growing a bit strained as he signs her arm. “I’m totes getting this tattooed,” she blurts, shooting them finger guns as she walks away. 

“S’it always like that?” Bucky asks, following Steve into the next row. _Middle Eastern_ , it says, like all those cultures can be fit into one goddamn aisle. 

“Nah,” Steve answers, half-smiling. “She just had good eyes.” He takes Bucky by the arm, dragging him to the frankly ridiculous selection of hummus. “Now c’mon, we gotta get back to Squish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's anime trash? it's me


	4. Plan 9 From Outer Space

Bucky comes into work after a sleepless night and Beth hands him a plant, tiny with round leaves like bubbles. “W’sit?” he slurs, more incoherent than usual.

“They’re called succulents. You’ll like it, dear, it requires almost no effort.”

He makes a face at her, feeling better already as he strokes along the plant’s waxy leaves, protesting, “I like t’work.”

She pats him on the shoulder, takes his flesh hand in hers. “That’s what they all say, ain’t it? Then I walk in on them playing those Gamestation things while my plants die.” 

He squeezes her fingers gently as possible, cause she’s a tough ole bird but she’s pushing ninety. She worked for SHIELD, under Peggy, got out young and started this shop. He knows that she knows about him, but she hasn’t said nothing. “I would never,” he swears, letting go to lay his hand over his heart. “I’m honest as they come.” 

“Mhm. You can’t fool me with those pretty brown eyes, Barnes. I see right through you,” she teases, and she’s a real class-A dame, a damn spitfire. He’s liked her from the start. 

“Damn, my plans are foiled,” he says, grinning when she laughs. “Keep the plant, dear. It’s always good to have something to take care of.” 

He already has Squish, but saying no to gifts is rude, so he nods and puts it with his stuff. “Thanks, boss.” 

“You’re welcome.”  
+  
He brings the succulent home to an empty apartment, Steve off on Avengers business. He puts the plant on the windowsill that gets the most sun and sits to watch it, holding Squish in his lap.

He must zone out, cause he jumps when Sam comes in the room, bringing with him the smell of cheese. Bucky swallows, vaguely nauseous. He’s been trying solids lately, mostly fruits and small chunks of meat. The doctors say his stomach is fine now, it’s his head that needs to change. He’s working on it.

Sam’s got his wings folded against his back, the new ones Stark designed after Bucky ripped the others off. He pushes down guilt, focusing on solid, unharmed Sam of right now. “What’re you doin’ here, Wilson?” 

He scoops Squish up, lets her claw at his metal arm to her heart’s content. Sam dumps his shit on the table, turns like a magnet towards Natalia, who’s carrying pizza boxes. “Dinner.” 

Bucky thinks the best thing about the future is the food available. He and Steve went to one of those newfangled restaurants that serve food cooked by lasers and shit. He ate foam that tasted like steak, watched Steve pick his way through something smaller than a roach. It was great. Nice, too, to spend a couple grand on dinner when a few decades ago they considered ice cream a risky splurge. And the foam shit didn’t make him nauseous. 

“You feeling pizza, Buck?” Steve asks, following Natalia in with the protein shakes Bucky likes.

Bucky thinks of grease slicking his fingers, oozing down his throat, and frowns. “I don’t think so.” He catches the shake Steve tosses at him, drinks deep. His body does alright without proper nutrition, the Serum takes care of it, but it feels better to be full. “Thanks, pal.”  
He follows the three of them into the kitchen, watches Steve and Natalia devour a pizza and a half each, Sam finishing the rest. “Beth got me a plant,” he announces, waiting as they all look up.

“What kind of plant?”

“She called it a succulent.” He nods over to the window, left hand busy feeding Squish scraps of chicken. “Beth’s kind,” he says, not looking at any of them, knowing they’re smiling. It’s alright, though, he’s got enough of himself back to realize they’re all his pals, even Sam who’s new. 

Natalia takes a bite of her pizza, swallows, tells him, “She has five confirmed kills.” Steve frowns at her, but Bucky gets it. Steve’s a solider, not spies like them. He doesn’t get the pride Bucky felt when he was in the War, with all the Hydra kills under his belt, that it’s who they are. It’s what they’re good at. 

“She’s a firecracker, alright.” He looks to Steve and has a weird, blurry flashback of him smaller, flushed and grinning like the little shit he is. He doesn’t drop his shake, but it’s a near thing. 

“Are you alright?” Sam asks, not worried, but there’s potential.

“Yeah. Just a memory,” he answers, slouching back in his chair to watch Steve eat. He likes watching Steve. “A good one this time.”  
+  
+  
He wakes up one morning feeling like death, coughing his throat aching and his nose stuffed. Which is really unfair, cause _Steve_ never gets sick, and Bucky’s shitty Serum coulda at least done that. He glares blearily at Steve from under his bangs, thankful anyway. 

Seventy years ago Steve woulda been hacking up a lung, turning so blue Bucky would bring in Father O’Grady for Last Rites. He was a big Irish bastard with a drinking problem, fond of Bucky and even fonder of Steve. Bucky smiles, momentarily distracted by a memory that doesn’t involve killing, til he coughs again, notices Steve’s smile.

“What is it?” he growls, annoyed, he’s _sick_ and Steve is _smiling_.

“What’s a vampire’s favorite kind of sickness?” Steve asks, grinning like the little shit he was, is, and always will be. Bucky raises a brow and waits. “Coffin,” Steve finishes, laughing, a big dumb grin spreading across his face and Bucky can only sit back to marvel. 

“That joke’s older’n we are,” he tells Steve, smiling, helpless in the face of Steve’s laughter. “And you should be nicer to a sick man,” he teases, sniffling, feeling his head pound. “Gimme a sponge bath or somethin’.”

He has a brief, brilliant flash of Steve’s big hands on his body. Even when he was little Steve had big hands, like they were waiting for him to grow into all the weight he has to carry. He shivers, comes back to a blushing Steve. 

“Or somethin’, Buck.” He hands Bucky five of those little blue pills they’re calling medicine nowadays. “Take these.” 

“They won’t make me drowsy?” He steals Steve’s water bottle; it’s not like Steve can catch whatever he has. 

“They won’t,” Steve promises, knowing how much Bucky hates being forced to sleep.

“Alright.” He drinks them down and winks at Steve. “Now, about that sponge bath…”

“ _No_ , Bucky.”

+  
+  
He’s outside a market stall, waiting for Steve to come out. He always seems to be with Steve; before the war, during the war, and after it, when the only battles were inside his own head.

Someone taps him on the shoulder, wafts the unmistakable scent of bubblegum. Jubilee. “Hiya, Sergeant. Funny meeting you here.” 

“Not really?” he responds, confused, a little embarrassed. He never texted her any messages, too busy getting used to everything else in this new world.  
She doesn’t look mad, though, grinning cheerily as she lingers in the shadow cast by the overhead awning. Vampire, he remembers, watching her dart an anxious glance at the sun. “What’s a girl like you doin’ in a place like this?” he tries, cause he does like Jubilee, she’s very modern. 

“I’m thirsty,” she says, eyes glinting red; he takes an involuntary step back and she bursts into laughter. “JK. I’m just shopping.” She holds up a bulging paper bag, eyes darting over his shoulder. “Hey, Cap!” 

Bucky turns to Steve, who’s beaming, shoulders stretching the seams of the ridiculous t-shirt he’s wearing. “Jubilee. It’s good to see you. How’s Wolverine?” 

Her lips flatten into a thin line. “He’s fine.” Bucky understands her anger; he’s only met Wolverine once, that he remembers, but that was enough. He’s a short black man who, Steve says, was born a woman.  
Bucky doesn’t really understand, but he sure as hell isn’t going to judge. Either way, the man was grumpy as hell. “God forbid I try cuddling the guy,” she continues, inching backwards as wind lifts the awning. Sun touches her toes and she frowns, worried enough that Bucky is worried, too. 

“Do we need to go somewhere darker?” Steve asks, reading his mind. 

She glances up, then laughs, a little self-conscious. “Oh, no, sorry. I won’t die, I’ll just get a bad sunburn, you know,” she says, like everyone has to deal with vampirism. “Do you want a Dorito?” she asks, offering him something radioactive orange. 

“I don’t…know…” he says slowly, carefully, and watches pity fill her eyes until he says, “What’s a Dorito?” and the pity becomes a different, more manageable kind.

“Oh, Barnes, you have no idea what you’re missing.” Bucky nibbles at it while she and Steve chatter away, thank God he’s here, Bucky’s getting better but he’s still shit at conversation. He vaguely remembers being a charmer, but that was before.  
Jubilee leaves with a cheerful wave, fading into the shadows easy as breathing. Steve slips an arm over his shoulders, heavy, but Bucky’s never gonna complain. Steve’s cheerful, too, grinning brash and wide.  
Bucky knows, Bucky _hates_ , that his return has been hard on Steve, that there’s a whole bevy of lawyers making sure Bucky’s not arrested for war crimes, that Hydra’s on their trail. He knows that he’s all cracked and broken; Steve takes the brunt of it. He hopes, eventually, that he’ll be worth it, be the Bucky Steve needs.

“What’re you smilin’ like that for?” he asks, digging a metal finger into Steve’s ribs; he jumps but doesn’t move away. 

“M’just happy, Bucky,” Steve admits, and Bucky would fight Hydra naked to keep that look in Steve’s eye.

“Aw, Stevie,” Bucky teases, grabbing at him, affectionate. 

“Shut up, you big jerk.” They walk a few steps before Steve asks, “Do you like your Dorito?”

Bucky screws up his face, but opinions are a part of being a person again. “I’m honestly not sure. Is that bad?” 

Steve squeezes at his hip. “Nah, Buck. Doritos are weird, I’m not sure, either.”  
+  
+  
Bucky goes to a therapist two days a week, whether he wants to or not. He usually wants to, because it’s not like he enjoys having PTSD or staying awake for days on end. His therapist, Shruti, is an Indian woman, diminutive but Steve says she’s a mutant who can lift buildings. He figures Steve’s not messing with him, cause Steve’s weird about lying to Bucky now.

Either way, she specializes in PTSD and has a faint accent that he finds very soothing. On bad days she reads to him, tells him it’s not a weakness to be kind to himself. He likes to think he’s half on his way to believing her. 

“You are not a machine, Bucky,” she says often, especially when he goes without sleep or food.

“The Soldier is a machine,” he always disagrees, because the Soldier is a tool even he uses when he needs to.

“Bucky Barnes is not the Soldier,” she’ll argue, at which point the conversation will stop, because Bucky _is_ the Soldier, that’s the reason he’s here, he feels the cold of the Soldier down to his bones. He’ll probably be alright, though, long as Steve feels it, too, long as someone else understands. He knows that if Steve dies, he’s following soon after.  
+  
+  
He’s at the mall with Steve, trying on shoes. Bucky’s been wearing his combat boots since he came back. Which is fine with him, but Steve gets pouty when Bucky doesn’t act like a person.

He’s staring at a pair of sneakers that look like they were made in space when someone’s baby starts crying and _won’t stop_. 

He contemplates a murderous rampage, realizes that’ll make Stevie cry, and turns back to the shoes when he has a memory. Razor sharp like all his bad ones are, of the whimpering of a baby, blood on his hands. There’s a brief, horrifying moment where he thinks… _no_ , but the memory comes in full and he remembers parents, both blonde, clutching each other and screaming, their baby left alive. 

The Soldier calls them weak as Bucky searches for Steve, unsettled but not destroyed by the memory. He finds him chatting to a cashier who’s clearly besotted, leaning halfway over the counter. He calls for Steve at a normal tone, knowing his enhanced hearing will pick it up.

Steve turns to him, already worried, so Bucky puts a smile on his face, picks up a shoe at random. “I want this one.” 

“You sure, Buck? It’s kind of…” Steve makes a gesture, trying to encompass the neon. “Bright.” 

“I like bright colors.” 

Now Steve’s laughing, and Bucky is, too, he can’t help it. “Alright, Bucky. Whatever you want.”  
+  
+  
Meeting Stark for the first time doesn’t go well. Bucky doesn’t expect it to; it’s three days after he had the horrifying recollection that he killed Howard. He’s barely holding it together. Shame crawls up his spine every time he thinks of it.

Ten minutes in and Tony’s rubbed him raw, abrasive like his father without the respect Bucky had for Howard. Tony says something offhand, about being a person, and Steve’s immediately protective, shielding with his big body in that way he has, even when he was small.

“I’m people,” Bucky snaps, feeling anxious under the skin, cause he’s people now, he _has_ to be. 

“Enough, Stark,” Steve snaps. 

“Too bad the Serum couldn’t grow you a personality,” Stark spits, and Bucky is immediately, blazingly angry.

“Shut your mouth,” he growls, moving towards Stark, who snarls back, “You gonna kill me, Barnes? Finish what you started with my parents?”  
Steve makes a sound like he’s been punched while Bucky steps back, feeling sick. Stark’s saying something as Bucky flees, but he can’t hear it.  
+  
Stark finds him later, when Bucky’s down in the Gym, trying to exhaust himself so he can forget Howard’s goddamn face, the wheeze of his wife’s last breath. It’s not working, but it never fucking does. 

“So I was an asshole,” Stark says, leaning against the doorway. “Or, at least, that’s what Pepper said before she blew fire at me.” He shrugs at Bucky’s curious glance. “You know how guys say their girlfriends are hot? Mine’s the hottest.” Bucky grunts, swallowing down the guilt that’s always there. “I’m trying to apologize, in case that’s not clear.” 

“It’s my fault,” Bucky interrupts, focusing on the solid thwap every time he hits the bag. “Their blood is on _my_ hands.” 

“You weren’t yourself, as Cap has taken great pains to remind me. Forcefully. I was being a dick.” 

“I remember.” 

“What?” 

“Three days ago. I remembered your parents. I’m sorry.”

“He talked about you a lot.”

“Cap’s colored sidekick?” Bucky asks; that was his title on the posters they put out. Steve was near apoplectic. 

Stark grins, just a flash. It looks painful, but what does Bucky know? “Something like that. He thought you were a good man.” 

“He was wrong.”

Stark rolls his eyes, reaches out a hand. “Your issues are not my problem. Go tell Cap I apologized, yeah? I’m afraid he’s gonna murder me.” 

Bucky shakes before stepping away. “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know maybe it's not clear enough but i write bucky as mexican, more specifically oscar jaenada because i am and forever shall be jensen/cougar losers trash. i know jaenada is spanish but he played cougar who's mexican *shrug* also i'm shit at healthy relationships


	5. Knope

“Bucky. Buck.” They’re on the train home, Bucky finally safe for places filled with people, and Steve is shaking him awake.

“Stevie?” he grunts, a little annoyed. His sleep was peaceful, for once, dreams all blurry. 

“What were you dreamin’ about, Buck?” Steve asks, real kind, his face close. Bucky examines the dark flecks in his eyes, checks out his own, bedraggled reflection.

“Nothing. Why’d you wake me up?”

“You were repeating your rank and number, Sergeant.” 

Bucky relaxes, puts his head back on Steve’s broad shoulder. “So? Lemme sleep.” 

Steve puts a hand on his thigh, warm even through jeans. “I _thought_ you were having a _nightmare_ ,” Steve snips, bratty. He’s always been bratty, was 200 pounds of asshole in a 90 pound body. 

“ _Relax_ , Rogers.” He pokes Steve in the side, with his flesh hand so it won’t hurt. They’re coming home from Sam’s place in D.C., the sun already setting.

He was in the sun too long, probably, he feels a little punch drunk. Not that he was doing anything, mind. It was the three of them in Sam’s backyard, Bucky tapping away at his phone while Sam and Steve played football, Steve’s skin shining golden under the sun. Bucky mostly watched. Watching Steve makes him peaceful. 

He’s full, warm, and he’s got Steve nearby. It’s a good day, he thinks, slipping back into sleep as the train rumbles on.  
********************  
“Do you remember anything about the ice?” Stark asks one night, goading. They’re all at a party, Steve dressed in a suit that makes his shoulders even bigger, somehow, the women in glittering dresses that catch Bucky’s eye every time they move. 

Steve’s face hardens. Bucky thinks that, given the option of Stark to kill, it would be Tony rather than Howard. Hydra, however, was not much into choices, preferring instead to do shit that leaves him with PTSD. 

Natalia’s watching them from the bar, her hand on the small of Sam’s back. She raises a brow, asking if she needs to come over and charm them into making nice. Bucky shakes his head; it’s not bad enough, probably won’t come to blows. He’s got enough of himself back to recognize when Steve’s pissed. He’s always been easy to read. 

“I don’t remember,” Steve answers, forcing the line of his shoulders to relax. “I hit my head pretty hard when the plane went down.” 

He’s lying, Bucky can tell, but Stark seems to accept it. “Huh. I always wondered.” He claps Steve on the back, turns to greet Ms. Potts, who’s gliding towards them. 

“You alright?” Bucky asks, coming up close behind Steve. 

“I’m fine.” Steve doesn’t swim, not if he doesn’t have to, _never_ if the water is cold. They don’t talk about it. Bucky squeezes his shoulder and steps back.  
**********************  
Bucky comes to from a nightmare and stares at the ceiling for a few seconds, til he realizes Steve’s there, sitting on the floor with his back against Bucky’s bed, in easy striking distance. Steve’s always been a fool when it comes to his friends, that’s one thing Bucky is sure of. 

“Baby doll,” he murmurs, fond and half-asleep, not how he usually refers to Steve. He’s vaguely sure that the last person he called baby doll was a woman all in green with her hair up. Steve stirs, wakes, turns to him blinking. “Hey. Thanks for coming to check on me.” 

Steve exhales, leans his head back against Bucky’s knee. “Oh. Hey. I got confused for a sec, was dreaming.” 

“What about?” Bucky asks, rolling over, letting his fingertips briefly touch the nape of Steve’s neck. He stretches, making a show of it, arching his back. Steve watches with tired eyes. 

“Old times.” Bucky doesn’t really remember the past; most of it is centered around Steve, who’s healthy and here with him. He has all that matters. Steve, though, remembers everything, friends, lovers, old or dead now. 

“Well. You should go back to bed, pal. I think I’ll make it through the night,” he says, deliberately being a smartass, trying to make Steve smile. 

It works, Steve making a face as he gets to his feet. “Jerk. Sleep well, yeah?" 

“Night, punk.”  
*  
*  
Steve insists, one summer afternoon, on going to the beach. Bucky, thinking of crowds, shakes his head. He’s better now, but crowds bring out shit he’d rather not think about. Steve’s shoulders drop so low Bucky quickly reconsiders it, about to agree, when Steve says, “Stark owns a private beach.”

“You’re fuckin’ with me, Rogers.”

“Cross my heart,” Steve swears, drawing a line across his pecs. Bucky stares at them for a moment longer than he means to before shrugging.

“Fine. Sure. Break out your Speedo.” Steve grins.  
*  
It’s dark by the time they get to Stark’s beach, in _Connecticut_. Steve insists on driving rather than taking the quinjet, because, “The view, Buck, we’ll take the scenic route!”

Bucky spends most of the ride there dozing, head against the window. Long car rides are soothing. 

“Stevie,” he starts as they pull into a long, wooded driveway. “Stevie, these are _woods_. The fuck?”

Steve huffs a short laugh, pushing his knuckles against Bucky’s jaw, gentle. “It’s just ahead, Buck. Don’t worry.” Bucky sits up, rubbing at the cold spot where his cheek was pressed against the window. 

“You’ve been here before. Was it with Stark?” he asks, an uncomfortable curl of jealousy unfurling in his gut. Stark shouldn’t get to see Steve like this, relaxed and grinning, the moon dappling his skin in shades of gray. 

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Steve mutters, pulling onto a beach. “And no. Nat brought me.”

“Oh. Well. That’s alright, then,” Bucky answers, pushing the door open. The sand is cool when he takes a handful of it, looks over his shoulder at Steve, who’s rifling through the trunk. He comes up with a blanket, and an honest to God picnic basket. 

“Come on, Buck.” It’s too cold to swim, and Steve doesn’t really like water, anyway. Bucky waits while Steve spreads out the blanket, listens to the waves beat against the shore. It’s quiet otherwise, the stars brighter here than in New York.

He has vague memories of being in a forest, cold, the stars so clear he thought he was dreaming. Steve’s on his back, hands behind his head. Bucky grabs a sandwich-he’s been able to eat, finally-and drops next to him. 

“Hey, Stevie,” he says, watching Steve’s face rather than the stars. Stevie’s got that half-smile he sometimes gets, when the years drop away and he’s just the kid from Brooklyn again. Bucky never cared much about Captain America, it’s Steve he’ll follow forever.

Steve, who looks to him, luminescent under the stars, and says, “Are you happy, Buck?” 

“Right now? Yeah.” Long as Steve’s there, he’s pretty goddamn happy. “You?”

Steve looks back to the sky, smiles full. There’s something wistful there, but there always is, so Bucky’s not real concerned. “Yeah, Buck. I’m happy.”

“Good.”  
*  
On the beach he watches Steve sleep, curled into a ball cause his subconscious still thinks he’s tiny. And for warmth, Bucky thinks, moving to shelter him from any wind. Steve doesn’t even shift, like he thinks he’s safe around the Winter Soldier.

Sometimes Bucky worries his programming will kick in again, the Soldier taking over, and the first thing he’ll go for is Steve. This time he’ll finish the job, probably. He hopes not. Bucky puts a finger to the arch of Steve’s cheekbone, delicate even in this body, turns his head to the side. Hopefully, if the programming kicks in again, someone will be there to kill him. 

“Stevie,” he whispers, starting to get unsettled by those thoughts. 

“Whassit?” Steve stirs, turns onto his belly, pressing his face into the blanket, away from Bucky’s hand. Bucky eyes the long, lean curve of his spine. 

“Let’s play Frisbee.” He and Steve found out about Frisbee just a few months ago. They both love it, it’s like tossing Steve’s shield, only plastic.

“I was sleeping,” Steve growls, the punk he is showing. He’s all noble around the Avengers, and while that’s Steve, too, Bucky likes when he’s a little bitchy. 

“Yeah, yeah. Come on.” 

Steve turns over, smiling, holds out a hand for Bucky to help him up. “Alright, but you owe me.” Bucky owes Steve everything anyway; this is just a drop in the fuckin’ ocean. 

“Whatever you say, Stevie.”  
*  
Bucky drives back to New York, after repeatedly reassuring Steve that he’s fine, he’s not gonna black out and crash the car. It’s not like they wouldn’t survive that.

“Strange how Captain “I Jump Out Of Planes With No Chute” is suddenly so safety conscious,” Bucky grumbles, squinting as another car heads towards them. Headlights are so goddamn bright these days. Steve mumbles something, so low even Bucky can’t hear. “Speak up, Stevie.” He speeds up, just a little; it’s not like a cop’s gonna give Captain America’s best buddy a ticket. 

“I said, it matters when it’s you who’ll get hurt.” He glances over at Steve, who’s red from crown to collar, biting the full curve of his bottom lip. Jesus. He tangles his fingers in the hair at Steve’s nape, squeezes once. 

“Alright, Stevie.”


	6. College

“Am I human?” Steve had asked, after the factory, after Schmidt had peeled off his face and told Steve they left humanity behind. Bucky was leaning against his shoulder, the warmth of him, both of them watching Peggy go over papers. Seventy years later, he can still remember the exact shade of her lipstick. 

Bucky, looking up at Steve for the first time since they were kids, at the great golden man he’d become, had laughed for the first time in weeks. “Stevie,” he’d said, then, “Steve. That’s what’s been worryin’ you?” Steve nodded, lips tight, shoulders hunched like always when he got nervous. Bucky frowned, forced himself serious.   
“You’re the best man I’ve ever met, Steve. Nothing’s gonna change that. Doesn’t matter if you sprout wings.”   
Steve was watching his hands, quiet. “You don’t have wings though, right?” Bucky had asked, noticing Peggy stiffen with silent laughter.

Steve had smiled finally, shook his head. “Nah, Buck. I don’t have wings.”

Seventy years later and Bucky’s met men who turn into monsters, has breakfast with a demigod, isn’t so sure he himself is human anymore, and Steve Rogers is still the most extraordinary person he’s ever met.  
+  
+  
Steve’s grinning at him across the table, pleased as a cat with cream. “What’re you lookin’ at, punk?” Bucky grunts, scanning the paper, more of J. Jonah Jameson’s bullshit. 

“Your big ugly mug, s’makin’ me laugh,” Steve retorts, stands, gathers the dishes. Bucky watches him from over the paper; Steve’s just in sweats today, the long muscles in his back pulling as he reaches for a towel.

“Nah, Stevie, really,” he begins, stopping when Sam strolls in, wings on.

“Hey. Magneto’s in town. Wings up in ten.” 

Steve looks to him, eager as a puppy. “You want to come, Buck?” 

Bucky gives him a long, unimpressed look. “I have a metal arm, Stevie. I’ll be here when you get back.” Steve laughs, bright, and shoves at his bicep before heading to suit up.

Left alone with Sam, Bucky tries a smile, though he’s not always sure they look real.

“How have you been, Barnes?” Sam asks; Sam’s easy, easier than Steve sometimes. He’s a soldier, and Bucky will always understand soldiers. 

“I’m alright. You?” 

“I’m doing fine,” Sam tells him, smiling. He’s wearing a scarf that Sam’s fairly sure is Natalia’s. “Hoping these plastic wings work better against Magneto.”

“Well, you have my prayers,” Bucky responds, something his Ma always used to say. He doesn’t even really believe in God anymore. Sam smiles and thanks him anyway.  
+  
+  
Bucky cups Squish in his metal hand, careful, cause sometimes it grabs too hard, if he’s not paying attention. Steve’s asleep in the other room, on his stomach, arms under his head. 

He used to sleep curled up, real small, trying to conserve heat. When it got real bad, in the winters, he’d crawl into Bucky’s bed, press icy fingers to his ribcage. Bucky can still remember the gold streaks of Steve’s hair, caught in his mouth every morning, the dip in Steve’s waist where his arm fit best. He wonders, a lot, if they still fit, or if Hydra stole that, too. 

“Steve.” Steve grunts, shifting, but doesn’t wake. Bucky drops Squish on his ass, laughing when Steve yelps. “Wake up, Stevie. Jesus.” Squish scrambles off him, pissed, making angry chirping noises. “I wanna go for a run.” 

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” Steve grumbles, turning over, face imprinted red, sun streaming across his hair. “You want to go for a _run_.” He grabs Squish, careful with his big hands, the calluses there from the shield.

“I’m not a dog,” Bucky snaps, unsettled suddenly, checking the corners as his arm whirs.

Steve gets that thin line between his brows, sitting up. “I know, Buck.” 

Bucky sinks onto the bed next to Steve, leaning into familiar bulk. “M’sorry.” His heart’s pounding, almost painful, everything a little too bright. “I’m sorry.” 

“Bucky. Hey. It’s fine,” Steve’s saying, honest, dropping Squish onto Bucky’s fisted hands. “Just take a deep breath.” 

Seventy years ago and their positions were reversed, Bucky holding Steve’s bird-bone wrists, the dips of his shoulders. So goddamn skinny a good breeze’d knock him over. Now, Steve throws a heavy arm over Bucky’s neck, waits til his fingers uncurl. “You good?” 

“I will be,” Bucky says, firm, rubbing at the small nubs of Squish’s spine.

“Are we still on for that run?” Steve asks lightly, standing. 

“Yeah,” Bucky decides, taking the hand Steve offers, letting himself be pulled to his feet. He keeps Squish tucked in the curve of his left arm, claws skittering safely against metal. “Can we get breakfast after? At Nina’s?” 

Steve smiles at him, shrugging those big shoulders, looking like one of the angel paintings from church. “Of course, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm at college and i'm real busy which is why i haven't been writing as much but i'm not gone i promise


	7. Home Sweet Home

“I miss real bananas,” Bucky says the day his therapist, Shruti, asks what he misses from Before. Steve always calls it Before, capital implied, and it’s stuck.

“Nothing else?” she asks, gentle, like she expected an out pouring of things missed, like Bucky’s Steve with a brain that holds memories, with a real past. 

“Not really,” he admits. “Bananas taste weird now, though.” 

Bucky doesn’t have enough memories to miss anything; he remembers Steve, who’s here. He remembers killing, and would prefer not to. Shruti smiles and agrees, that she imagines a lot of food tastes strange now. Bucky nods.

 

He goes home to Steve thoughtful, going over the memories he can call up easy. Skinny Steve, light glinting off his hair, a smile splitting his narrow face. Steve with a split lip sniffing back blood, still fighting off attackers Bucky no longer remembers. 

Steve as Captain America, godlike. Peggy at his arm, barking orders, the best of them. Then falling, and cold, lying soaked in the snow. After that, there’s winter. 

Steve, who’s crouched in front of the sink in sweats and a white t-shirt, scratches his head with a wrench. The frustrated, determined look on his face is as familiar as the back of Bucky’s hand. 

“Stevie.” Steve turns, frowning. “Quit fiddlin’ with that. You’re gonna bust an artery.” He kneels next to Steve, sensing the heat of him, ignoring his protests. The sink’s blocked, probably all the way down the pipes.  
“Fuck,” Bucky mutters, bumping Steve aside pushing his own head under the sink. “We’ll have to call a plumber.”

When they were younger, they’d have to struggle for days to do this themselves. Bucky prefers now. He prefers money and warmth and Steve no longer coughing his lungs up every winter.

“Yeah, alright,” Steve agrees, standing and helping Bucky up. Squish sniffs at their feet, puts her paws into the cabinet. 

“Mexican for dinner tonight?” Bucky recently found his mother’s old recipes; a niece gave them to him. He’s been making food that tastes almost right for days.  
Steve nods and goes to call the plumber.  
+++  
Bucky wakes up from a memory. Natalia, this time, as a child, sent on a mission to kill the daughter of some politician. Natalia, her hair done up in red curls, her cheeks pink, plaiting flowers in the other girl’s braid. 

Then an accident so well done it seemed real, Natalia returning with blood on her shoes, wiping fake tears away. Her first real kill.

Bucky, breathing hard in the dark, isn’t sure why he remembers this. He only worked with others from the Red Room when they were adults, able to handle him if the programming broke. Maybe the memory’s not even real. 

He rolls over, dislodging Squish, who scurries off with an annoyed mewl. It’s early, still dark. Steve’s not home yet. Bucky gets up, shuffles into the kitchen for a drink. He’ll ask Natalia if the memory’s true tomorrow, if he’s brave enough.  
+++++++++

His skin is crawling, shoulders tense, which always makes the arm feel even heavier.

“Why are you being such a bitch, Barnes?” Stark asks when Bucky snaps at Dr. Banner, and Bucky nearly puts Stark through a wall. Nearly, cause Dr. Banner’s starting to go green, and Bucky’s no fool. Steve shows up soon after, Bucky’s _fucking_ babysitter, pulling him away with rough hands. Outside, Bucky’s shoved against a wall, not as hard as it could be, but enough that he feels the sting in his shoulder blades.

“What the _hell_ , Bucky?” Steve’s growling, too close; Bucky can see the gold flecks in his eyes.

“You’re not the boss’a me,” Bucky mumbles, looking away. Steve’s hard to look at even on the best of days, he’s so damn bright. Bucky can’t handle him right now. 

“I _know_ that,” Steve snaps, getting loud, making Bucky nervous. He doesn’t like raised voices.

“M’sorry. Sorry,” he tries, backing up, his elbows grinding against the wall.

Steve stops, hesitates, removing his hands from Bucky’s upper arms. “Buck. Hey. Bucky. It’s okay.” 

“I know.” Bucky waits a few beats, watches Steve’s broad shoulders rise and then fall. “I’m sorry.” He tries pushing off the wall a little, into Steve’s big hands. Steve usually handles him like glass, but Bucky kinda likes this, too. Just without the yelling.

Steve’s watching him, wide eyed; sometimes he looks so goddamn young it hits Bucky like a punch. Pisses him off, that Stevie didn’t become an artist, that both of their hands are dripping in blood. “No, I’m sorry,” Steve says, letting go to step away. It’s quiet enough that Bucky can hear Stark cursing in the next room, loud like everything he does. “I shouldn’t’ve pushed you around.” 

“I don’t mind,” Bucky admits, shrugging as he watches color bleed over Steve’s face. 

“Do you want to go?” Steve asks, formal; he’s so uptight around his new team, Bucky takes pleasure in loosening him up. 

“Yeah, pal, before Stark pops a vein.” Steve smiles, squeezes his shoulder.  
++++++++++++++++  
Bucky comes home from work one night, fingers coated with soil, to find Jubilee on their couch, legs kicked up, blowing her ever-present bubblegum. Taking his hand off his gun, he nods hello, watches the cartoons she has on for a while. He likes cartoons. Everyone’s happy in them. 

“How’d you get in?” 

“Kitty,” she says, like that’s an explanation. “Or maybe I turned into fog.” She turns, wiggling her eyebrows. 

He rolls his eyes and toes his shoes off. “Brat.” She moves over as Bucky sits, resting his tired feet on the coffee table. Today was long, harder than usual, and they’re always hard. He had a memory of a woman he killed, hair spilling down her back like silk, bones in her neck crushed to fine powder between his hands.

Since then everything’s ben a little too bright. Bucky clicks his tongue to call Squish, who pads over and jumps in his lap. Bucky kneads at the small bones in her spine, already comforted. “Any reason you’re here?” Bucky’s not particularly worried that anything important is going on. Jubilee is mercurial, could be here for any reason.

“You’re out of Cheerios,” Jubilee says instead of answering. This close, Bucky can see that she’s sniffling, eyes red-rimmed. 

“Um…” he starts, not emotionally capable enough to handle tears. He wishes Sam was here. At least, he thinks, it’s probably a big step that he recognizes he can’t handle this. 

“It’s fine. It’s _fine_ ,” she insists, wiping at her eyes and forcing a smile. “Just Xavier being a dick, as usual.” 

Bucky pats awkwardly at her shoulder, realizing that she considers them friends, if she came here to cry and see him. It’s nice, he thinks, to have friends, even when they’re sad. “Do you want juice?” he tries. 

She gives a snot-filled laugh and shakes her head. “No, thanks. How’s Steve?” 

On more familiar ground, Bucky brightens, tells her how Steve’s been visiting kids in hospitals for the past couples weeks, how he brings Bucky along. “He’s always been like that, you know? Better than everyone,” Bucky says, earnest, because Steve _is_ better, has been the sun in Bucky’s eyes since they were kids. 

“God, you two are so cute,” Jubilee interrupts, smiling fondly. 

“Huh?” 

“I’ve never met a couple as sweet as you guys.” 

Bucky shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “We’re not a couple.” Bucky had girlfriends, a lot, a long time ago. Steve never did. Jubilee just laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back, back again cause college is hard and i have a girlfriend now :D


	8. Sparks

Bucky has the luck, several months after they move into Stark Tower, to walk in on Steve arguing with a SHIELD agent, one of the stuffy ones who always glares. Bucky figures he killed the guy’s friends, probably. 

They haven’t noticed him, because he’s still a goddamn spy, he can lurk with the best of them. “…Barnes is a menace to society who should be put down like a damn dog,” the agent spits, either brave or stupid, cause Steve’s getting steadily redder, jaw clenching til Bucky thinks it might crack. 

Bucky kinda agrees with the guy; God knows he was rough even before Hydra got their paws on him. They lived in DUMBO, for Pete’s sake, and Steve was…and Steve was…and Steve was his fella. Waking up mornings with Steve’s skinny body pressed to his, the feel of Steve’s eyes on him, the long plane of Steve’s throat marked up with bruises. He can’t tell if those are real memories or just things he wanted, but he chokes anyway.

Steve and the agent whip around, Steve still righteously angry, the agent paling.

“Buck? You okay?” Steve asks, not so gently pushing past the agent. “I was just talking to Agent Roberts here about his need to keep his goddamn mouth shut,” Steve continues, pleasant, and Bucky thinks he might want to laugh. 6’2 and Steve’s still the same little shit, always mouthing off.

Agent Roberts is gonna end up demoted, Bucky can tell. 

He grins, holding the agent’s eye even as his mind reels. “I dunno, Stevie, I’m feeling a little rabid,” he growls, letting his posture do the real talking. He’s fucked up, sure, but even he knows he’s getting better. He only hurts people he wants to now. 

Steve grins at him, fond, and Bucky’s sure of it, wants to go to his knees in thanks, that even seventy years couldn’t take Steve away from him. The agent stammers out some nonsense and skulls away, thank Christ. Bucky doesn’t want witnesses for what comes next. 

He throws an arm around Steve’s shoulders, drawing him down to his level, rubbing his cheek into the meat of Steve’s bicep. “Steve. _Stevie_ ,” he husks, feeling half drunk, probably grinning like an idiot. 

“I’m real sorry about the agent, Buck. I’m reporting him.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” Bucky waves a hand, squeezes Steve a bit. “I just remembered somethin’.”

Steve smiles wide, like he always does when Bucky remembers something that doesn’t leave him in tears. “Yeah?” 

“Mm.” He manhandles Steve into one of the empty rooms, Steve going willingly like always. He settles in a chair with his legs spread, doesn’t even know what he looks like, the big punk. Bucky leans his back against the closed door and smirks. “You were my fella. Or, I wanted you to be.” 

Steve stills, eyes darting to the door, but his instinct has never been flight and Bucky knows it. He colors beautifully though, to the tips of his ears. “Um. Yeah. Yeah, Buck. The second one.” 

“We never did nothin?” 

“No. I was sick, and it was dangerous. People got killed for it, back then. Then I was healthy, and it was still dangerous, and…Peggy…” 

“So I never bruised up your neck?” Bucky asks, curious, cause the image is very clear in his head and it’s kind of getting him going. Which is a surprise, he wasn’t even sure he could still get it up. 

“No.” Steve shakes his head, so red he’s near glowing. 

“I’m gonna,” Bucky swears, letting his gaze drop to Steve’s mouth, his waist. “S’not dangerous anymore.”

Steve relaxes, grinning up at him, just as glad. “You offerin’ to be my guy, Buck?” 

“I already am, punk.” 

Steve’s eyes are wrinkled at the corners he’s grinning so wide, like the goddamn sun. “Get over here then, you big jerk.” Bucky laughs and takes a step forward, catching Steve’s hand, pressing kisses to his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Steve’s mumbling his name over and over. Bucky’s thinking fuck Hydra, they didn’t take anything away from him in the end. 

“We coulda been sweethearts already.” 

“I didn’t wanna push,” Steve murmurs, squirming when Bucky grabs at him. 

“What, you? Pushy? Never,” Bucky says into Steve’s mouth, nipping, a little mean. “I’m gonna fuck you through the goddamn wall for taking so long,” he adds, even as he gentles his hands on Steve’s arms. Steve’s just laughs.  
+  
Jubilee strolls through their door the next morning, when Bucky’s balls deep in Steve’s ass. The ensuing surprised fireworks do not go over well. They all end up on the couch, Steve red faced and wearing only sweats, spunk dripping down his thighs. Every time Bucky thinks of it he gets harder. 

“I’m really sorry about the burns,” Jubilee says again.

“S’okay. It’s already healing, see?” Bucky offers, holding out his arm. 

“So are you guys getting married now?” Jubilee asks, openly leering at Steve, who’s dropped his head to his hands. Bucky just grins. Everything will probably be fine.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all, folks. i've been in a really big dc mood lately cause of arkham knight so yeah and also i'm watching gotham okay well hope you liked this story


End file.
